Ghost
by Calliope Jones
Summary: a departure. I'm experimenting on RT.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I'll be posting one more chapter to 'Despite Themselves'. Eventually. Right now I'm experimenting on the Remus in my head. I won't hurt him, I promise.

Disclaimer: JK owns the characters, I just play with them.

* * *

Lately I've been thinking  
Lately I've been dreaming with you  
I'm so resistant to this type of thinking  
Oh, now it's shining through  
I was alone for the last time  
Before my night's vacation with you  
Alive from the first  
Now I'm denied by the ghost of you

"Ghost" Howie Day

* * *

It had been utter madness for him to stay the night with her. He never should have touched her to begin with. Never should have reached out.

It was her bloody fault really. If she'd just let him be, if she hadn't pestered him so, he'd have never even considered...

He'd gone out of his head.

That one taste had him ready to beg for a fuck, which would have completely destroyed what was left of his pride.

He'd not had to beg though, she'd been willing enough to comply.

At first, he'd thought it was pity. But pity would not have made her so eager. Pity wouldn't have made her so... industrious.

Her hands, small and capable, slid beneath his clothes with wicked intent.

And he hadn't been touched in so long...

Even now, the memory of it was enough to heat his blood.

He'd not even asked if she enjoyed it, but from the sounds she'd made beneath him, it was fairly undeniable. And at the time, he'd not cared.

It wasn't something he was proud of, it made him wince to think on it. Then his thoughts would invariably turn to more enjoyable recollections, like the way her skin tasted, or the scent of her hair, or the way she arched beneath him.

And then it would no longer matter that he was lying alone on the cold hard ground on the outskirts of Fenrir's pack, his body would harden insistently and he'd be forced to take matters in his own hands, so to speak.

It was lowering that a woman/child such as she could force him to such measures.

Because of her, dignity was a thing of the past.

And so, to preserve his pride, and his sanity, he went out of his way to avoid her.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: The usual.

* * *

I know there's little use in crying  
It's more wide awake and dying then I'm used to  
I thought we'd walk these streets together  
Now I'm hoping that I'll never have to meet you  
Step aside from all this anger  
And somewhere in between I can feel you  
Ask me should we try again  
I'm thinking no  
Y'know, it's not what I believe in  
It's not what I believe in

* * *

Sleep eluded him. He lay on the narrow sagging bed in his rented room and tried not to think of her. He had been back in London for a week, and it was almost as bad as living in the wild with the pack. At least with the pack he'd not had to act civilized.

A handy thing, since he was disinclined to do so. Being a werewolf and a crotchety old prick wasn't bad enough anymore.

Propping himself up on his elbow, he reached over to the bureau and snagged the nearly empty bottle there. He took a long gulp, coughing a little as the whiskey hit his empty stomach.

One good thing about not being at Grimmauld Place was that he no longer had to hide any of his less admirable habits. Another thing was that he no longer had to fear being trampled by a Weasley or worse yet cornered by the Matriarch.

He drank and brooded for the better part of an hour before he decided that he might as well go out.

He dressed in Muggle clothes; dungarees and a jumper with worn elbows, and headed out, his boots thumping on the stairs. Out on the street in the cold night air, he decided he needed another drink.

He was drinking more and more these days, as if he were trying to kill himself slowly. Which would be fine if it'd work.

He had concluded one night not long ago, that he, Remus Lupin, was a right bastard and did not believe in love.

He did not believe in the romance and sweetness dictated by greeting cards and he most certainly did not believe that fucking equaled a lasting attachment.

The situation with Nym--_bloody_ Tonks had caused him a great deal of discomfort and annoyance.

Apparently, she'd been moping about for months now, behaving as if she'd lost her one true.

Part of him was tempted to go find her and tell her to get over it; that it'd been simply a bit of a shag and too much to drink, and he'd not meant anything by it.

Of course being the stupid blighter he was, the rest of him still wanted to track her down and have at her again. Parts of him were insistent about it.

But it wasn't love.

He was mature enough to know the difference between love and lust even if she wasn't.

And the fact that he was avoiding the parts of London that she frequented had nothing to do with that and everything to do with convenience.

That convenience had him taking the long way round the park past the pub he now frequented instead of the Leaky Cauldron. And of course, _of course_, she was coming out just as he was passing.

He ducked his head and tried to sneak past; telling himself it was only because he didn't want a scene.

"Remus?" Her voice was tentative.

_Fucking hell._ He stopped, tucking his hands into his pockets and turning to face her.

"Tonks." He greeted her coolly.

"I'd heard you were back." She said. "I was looking for you."

He posed with studied nonchalance. "What for?"

Hurt showed on her pale face. "Can we talk?"

He shrugged. "I suppose. Buy me a pint?"

She glanced around. "Um, can we talk in private? Please?"

Bollocks. He did not want to be alone with her. It wasn't guilt or fear, he told himself, just preference.

"Let's walk." He said. Christ, he needed a drink.

She fell into step beside him, wrapping her arms around herself. The ground crunched icily under their feet.

She'd lost weight, he noticed. And she wasn't even wearing a proper coat.

"I thought you might owl me when you got back." She said quietly.

"No point."

She stumbled, then righted herself. "You've been drinking, haven't you."

Remus shrugged. "What's it to you?"

"Remus." She chided.

"I'm a grown man, Tonks." He said. "If I want to have a drink every once in a while, I will."

She snorted. "It's more than every once in a while. You can lie to yourself if you want, but not to me."

"It isn't your business anyway." He told her.

Her mousy hair was blowing across her face. She shot him a look as she shoved it back. "I love you, Remus. That makes it my business."

"You love me?" He scoffed, ignoring the tug in his gut her words caused. "Don't fool yourself, sweet. It was just sex."

She drew back as if he'd slapped her. "Just sex."

"Too many pints, yeh?"

She came to a halt and stared up at him. "Too many pints?"

He stopped a pace ahead of her and nodded, pasting a benign smile on his face.

She gaped at him for a moment. "You unbelievable bastard."

"Tonks..." He feigned astonishment. "You didn't actually think..."

"But..."

"It was just a bit of fun."

She advanced on him. "A bit of fun?"

When she drew back her hand and slapped him across the face, he was not surprised. When she spoke, he was.

"Do you think I'm some stupid little girl? That I couldn't see it on your face when you fucked me?"

"See what?" He asked, afraid he already knew.

"That you love me."

_Christ. _

When he didn't say anything, she huffed out a breath. "Fine. Fuck you, Lupin."

She turned on her heel and marched away.

He stared at her retreating back. "Fuck."

It was for the best really. She was far better of being brassed off at him than pining.

"Bugger."

There was no reason for it to hurt so much to watch her walk away.

No reason at all.

He loved her too much to drag her down with him.


	3. Chapter 3

Cold, and the whiskey is wearing  
And I'm on the edge of my breath  
Ohh...  
And I'm thinking of leaving  
I could just lay down  
Lay down and freeze to death.

Numbness for Sound- Howie Day

* * *

He trudges along the streets, wanting a drink fucking desperately but not willing to veer into any of the local pubs.

She'd find him if he did. She'd crawl into his head with her bloody sad eyes and her knowing words and he'd feel even worse.

He wonders if he managed to push her away for good this time.

It's gotten colder now, the false warmth of alcohol wearing off far too quickly. His breath feels like shards in his lungs and he's developing a stitch in one side.

There's a huddled shape up ahead, crumpled in a doorway. Remus tugs out his wand surreptitiously and approaches the form.

He hears a snort, the a long drawn out snore.

Homeless. A homeless man asleep on the stairs.

Glancing around, Remus cautiously casts a warmimg charm on the rags wrapped around the man. These days, it would be too easy to fall asleep in the cold and never wake up.

Too easy. He couldn't say the thought hadn't crossed his mind. To just lay down and give in to the cold.

But when he did think of it, _her_ face would pop into his head. And he'd realize he would never be able to go through with it.

* * *

Standing in your shoes  
I turn and now  
You're standing bare in my doorway  
I only wish that I had been prepared  
I'm gonna have to go along with your way  
Just take the plastic camera out  
It's the pants you borrowed in the driveway  
Alive from the first  
Now I'm denied by the ghost of you

Ghost- Howie Day

* * *

She's standing in the doorway now, a steaming styrofoam cup held out, her shoulders covered in a dusting of snow, her hair wet and stringy.

"I hope that's whiskey." He stated. He hadn't thought that she'd track him down here of all places. He wasn't prepared to deal with her on his turf, such as it was. "I still need a drink."

She shook her head."So you still pretending to be a drunken bastard?"

"Not pretending." He muttered.

She hands him the cup and comes in, taking off her snowy shoes and her thin jacket and leaving them in a heap by the door. Without asking, she plops down on his bed and curls up like a cat, eyeing him shrewdly.

"Yer a heartless sot, then?"

He shrugs, hanging her jacket on a hook by the door. He takes a sip of the truly awful coffee and puts it on the rickety table beside the bed.

"How's that working out for you?" She asked conversationally.

He sighed and lay down beside her, her knees pressing against his ribs. "Not so well."

Her small hand reaches out and brushes his hair away from his forehead. "You're not trying to become Sirius, are you?"

He turns his head. "You think I am?"

"I don't know. You're not being you." Her hand is on his shoulder.

"How do you know that?" He asked. "How do you know this isn't who I am?"

She shifts, straightening out her legs and shimmying closer. "I just do."

Her movements have brought her mouth unbearably close his own. He stares at it.

The room is silent, the only noise is the quiet sproing of the bedsprings as she wiggles closer. And then her other hand is plucking at his jumper.

"What are you doing?" He whispers.

"I'm cold." She says.

"That's what you get for wandering around without a proper coat."

She rolled her eyes and poked him. "Come on Remus."

"Sod off. You can't have my jumper."

Her hands slide up underneath the clothing in question and icy fingers press against his skin.

He jumps. "Bloody hell, woman!"

"Told you I was cold." She said sweetly.

He knows what she's trying to do. She's trying to find the way back to the easy comaradarie that they used to share.


End file.
